


To the Loser Go the Spoils

by Quakey (Quak3y)



Series: The Way I See It... [1]
Category: Cable and Deadpool
Genre: Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, attempted violence with guns, like in the image at the top of the notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-10 07:19:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15944474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quak3y/pseuds/Quakey
Summary: Wade hits the metal slant of the roof at the same time, both their feet scraping and sliding as they find their balance.  Without a word and like the muted antithesis of a shooting star, red and a smudge of darkness, he streaks off into the night.





	To the Loser Go the Spoils

**Author's Note:**

> This gorgeous fanart (original post [here](http://lps1.tumblr.com/post/139296892234)) made me want to write some fanfic:  
> 
> 
> I started with some pwp, but it felt empty of purpose. Then I considered where it might have fit in canon and … things happened. I remembered [Beer and Sympathy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/745303) by [rallamajoop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rallamajoop/pseuds/rallamajoop), which I have happily accepted as headcanon. I will be obliquely referring to events in it (yes, I got permission, thank you, rallamajoop!!), so although not necessary you may want to read it too. If for no other reason than because it’s amazing. :) And otherwise the beer line is going to make no sense. ;)
> 
> This story fits between _Cable & Deadpool_ #7 and #8. They have their joined bodyslide ability, Nate is ridiculously overpowered, Wade has been collecting device pieces, and it’s before Wade comes with the X-Men squad to attack Providence.
> 
> TK: telekinesis  
> TO: techno-organic
> 
> The title is having fun with the saying “to the winner go the spoils.”

There's no warning, but then there never is. He's politely shaking the hand of an officious diplomat and bidding them good afternoon, _thank you for your hospitality_ and _please remember your commitment to officially denouncing the genocide on your Western border_ and _my government will consider it carefully_ and _we will be watching to make sure you do_ with a smile that looks warm but is anything but, and the next moment everything dissolves, he dissolves and reforms, and he's dropping onto a nighttime rooftop somewhere on Providence.

Wade hits the metal slant of the roof at the same time, both their feet scraping and sliding as they find their balance. Without a word and like the muted antithesis of a shooting star, red and a smudge of darkness, he streaks off into the night.

Nate frowns and floats up. Orients himself to find where in his domain they are. It’s definitely Providence, the rising juts and leaps of the old satellite-turned-sky-island instantly familiar. Yes, they’re in one of the many civilian housing sections of the island, and he’s faintly concerned for the safety of those around them.

The blue light of his telekinesis surrounds him as he easily follows Wade's jumps, leaps, and flips along the curved rooftops of his city. He’s used to Wade, how he moves, how he evades. He’s spent enough time fighting him, tracking him, being aware of him, _(fucking him,)_ working with him. It leads to an ability to follow, to not be surprised by what Wade can do or the unconventional decisions he sometimes makes, the flagrant disregard he has toward his body if a minor to moderate injury is the difference between making a leap and having to slow down. What worry is a torn shoulder _(Wade catches himself by the fingertips of one hand at the end of an impossible leap)_ or a bruised rib _(tuck and roll into a landing, but from a height that is far more than safe and Nate hears the thud and crack of it)_ if it is healed again within moments?

After the second time Wade slips behind a high spire of a rooftop to double back, forcing Nate to pause and backtrack, he decides Wade isn’t trying to get somewhere so much as he is trying to lose him or toy with him _(get his attention, annoy him, rile him up)_.

Nate has been following with an amused sort of half interest combined with annoyance and a healthy paranoia where Wade is concerned. Although he doesn’t have time for this, he wants to make sure he knows where the other is and what he’s up to without really caring whether he catches him. But now, knowing that Wade is intentionally playing a game of cat-and-mouse? It’s a dare, a red flag _(red suit)_ waved in front of a bull. Nate knows himself and knows that he rises to a challenge. Knows he likes to _win_.

So the next time Wade drops over the side of a curved civilian housing tower and out of his sight, Nate puts on a sudden burst of speed. He makes it around the edge of the building in time to see Wade land with a reverberating clang on a metal overhang on the other side of the street, then clamber up onto the building. Nate flies straight ahead, curves around the side of the structure and straight up over the edge just as Wade is leaping again.

Wade is already in the air, momentum and trajectory defined, and it would be a midair collision if Nate weren’t a telekinetic. Instead he curves lazily to the side, elbow slamming down as Wade passes to deflect him downward, crashing into the next rooftop. Wade of course turns it into a roll, but it’s still a brutally hard hit. He takes most of the fall on a shoulder, rolls several times, and comes up out of it in a crouch facing Nate.

Nate lowers himself to the roof, seamlessly changing forward momentum from floating to striding with a scuff of rubber on metal. The telekinetic glow fades as he lets gravity reclaim him _(body heavy, like pulling oneself out of the water after swimming)_ , although the lights of his city still glint off the metal of his arm, his eye still glows. His strides carry him toward his goal, dark and drawn down compact and dangerous.

“Wade, enough. What do you want?”

“I'm sorry, did I interrupt important business? You don’t know what I want yet, Natey-poo? You’re slow tonight.”

No answers then. Just snark, a mask stretched over a vicious grin, and a drawn handgun.

Wade flings himself forward with the clench and pull of muscle, one fist swinging rather than firing a bullet. Nate doesn’t bother with trying to drag this out--he blocks fast and counterattacks faster. There’s a flurry of fists and forearms, blocks and attacks. Oddly, Wade isn’t firing the gun, just using the butt of it as a blunt weapon.

“I went to all the trouble to bodyslide here, bring you with me,” Wade mocks while sliding and evading like a shadow. “Come on Nate, what do you _think_ I’m here for?”

“Given it’s you? Could be anything.”

Nate manages to hook a foot behind Wade’s ankle and pulls.

Wade never hits the roof though, flipping as he goes over backwards, but as he lands, Nate’s fist catches him full in the face and that does send him crashing down. He slides to a stop several feet from where he lands.

“Oooouch. I didn’t need to taste my own blood, thanks,” he groans.

“Won’t kill you,” Nate says shortly.

It’s probably harsh, but he’s never been one to coddle Wade, and Wade never seems to want to be treated gently either. He reaches down and wraps his right hand in the front of Wade’s costume, hauls him to his feet.

“Ready to tell me what game you’re playing at?”

There’s the _snick_ of a safety sliding off simultaneous with cold steel pressing under his chin.

“Why--”

“Didn’t want to shoot up anyone in your precious city by accident,” Wade sneers, somehow knowing which _why_ Nate meant out of the many possible--why had the safety still been on, why hadn't he tried bullets before. “I wanted to save these for up close and personal. When I can’t miss.”

They’re so close. They haven’t been this near to each other in years. No crisis or tension except that which naturally exists between them. It makes Nate remember certain things, memories he hasn’t forgotten but doesn’t usually bother to dig out. There’s usually no gain to reminiscing.

But here? The memories are suddenly sharply clear and relevant.

Nate ignores the gun in favor of running his TO hand up Wade’s shoulder, over to his neck and the bottom of his mask. He feels Wade shudder but otherwise he doesn’t move, lenses of his mask trained single-mindedly on Nate’s face. So Nate hooks fingers and pulls, slides the whole thing slowly up to the bridge of Wade's nose. The fabric is wet with blood under his fingers, red-on-red. Wade hadn’t exaggerated. He cups the side of Wade’s face, runs his thumb slowly through the wet red mess, smearing it deliberately up Wade’s cheek bone as his thumb slides higher. It runs under the edge of the mask, grazes the lid under an eye but Wade doesn't flinch.

“I can still blow your head away with a thought,” he says low and intimate and dangerous.

Wade grins and pulls the trigger.

Nate’s been expecting it and catches the hammer with TK before it can hit the bullet, then tears the gun from Wade’s hand with a thought and sends it skittering and spinning across the roof into shadows.

“You can’t kill me like that,” he growls, fingers gripping tighter.

“Worth a shot. A lot of governments would make me a billionaire for offing you.” Wade shrugs, grins bigger and brighter if anything. The flash of teeth given Nate is the only bright thing about him right now, a mess of shadows and twisted motivation, dark to Nate's mind.

“I win your little game.”

“To the loser go the spoils,” Wade replies, entirely too pleased sounding.

“I think you’ve got that wrong.”

“Pretty sure I don’t,” Wade says, and he closes the half step between them, grabs Nate, eliminates the space between them with a press of hips and a grind.

It finally makes it abundantly obvious what Wade’s goal is.

Nate tightens his hold on the side of Wade's head, thumb smearing through blood again, dipping to brush across Wade's lips. Wade opens with a growl, tongue eagerly darting out to curl over the metal pad of a finger. Nate pushes a little, thumb sliding into Wade's mouth as a small moan shivers past it, and then he leans closer and presses lips next to his thumb. Tongue laps across red and then chases in next to the digit, tastes blood and spit and TO.

They're both hardening, hips shifting against each other accompanied by shivers of breath shared between lips.

It's the work of a moment for Nate to reach with his TK and pull this, flick that, release a catch here and there and every single strap and harness on Wade loosens at once, falling with a clatter to the rooftop. Wade jerks back long enough to complain, “Hey, careful with the gear!” before Nate has his hand behind his head and is yanking him back in for a kiss that’s all tongue and teeth and annoyance and coiled need for his unexpected guest.

He hasn’t had Wade like this since-- Well, since another time when he didn’t think his bad decisions--and Wade had certainly seemed like one of those--would matter for very long. Since Wade disappeared and hadn’t returned. What is bringing the mercenary back like this now?

Whatever the reason, he knows what he wants and he’s not going to waste any time getting it. He’s thumbing open the button and pulling down the zipper on the dress pants he’d worn to the formal, diplomatic lunch, then working on the tight cling of Wade’s suit. He shoves it and underwear down past Wade’s ass, getting distracted by the curve of glutes, hard lines of leg, and clench of muscles as he does so, spends some moments just letting his hands wander appreciatively.

“One would think you have a thing for my legs,” Wade pulls off again to comment, dark amusement in his voice. It doesn’t stop Wade’s talented, he’d forgotten just how _nimble_ , fingers from sliding down the front of his pants, pushing his underwear out of the way, wrapping with familiarity around the hardness there.

“Maybe I do,” Nate admits magnanimously. The interruption refocusses him, and he’s pulling at the curve of Wade’s ass with one hand, ghosting TO fingers across Wade’s hole with the other. Smirks as Wade hisses and mouths his neck in something just this side of a bite. “Did you bring anything slick?”

“Spit? Let the healing factor take care of it?” Wade growls against his throat.

“No,” Nate says shortly. He's not interested in something intimate that feels so much like violence, even if Wade is apparently okay with it. That might worry him just a little bit about what it says about Wade or what Wade thinks of what is _(was? is? will this happen again?)_ between them. He presses a little harder on that pucker of skin to feel Wade buck against him, feel hardnesses sliding hot and smooth against each other. He’s breathing quicker, no matter how much he tries to appear in control of himself. “I have some back at my penthouse.”

“No no, hold on...”

Wade is pulling away and Nate reluctantly lets him go, watches as Wade hops around his spilled gear with pants around his knees, looking for something, finally comes up with a small, plastic bottle. He reaches out with TK to try to undo the other’s boots and give a few helpful tugs at his pants, but Wade kicks at the phantom touch with a look of irritation.

“Watch it with your handsy mind powers,” he grumbles, chucking the bottle at Nate who just catches it with TK, lazily rotates it in the air to read the label.

“Weapon lubricant?” he says, tipping up an eyebrow in amusement.

“Good for guns, swords, and trouser snakes,” Wade sneers, stepping backwards and turning to put his hands on a low wall that surrounds the rooftop. He shifts his hips from side to side. “You've got a weapon,” he taunts over his shoulder. “Come holster it.”

Nate’s lips pull back in a silent snarl and he crosses the space in an instant, fingers pressing white half moons in Wade’s hips with the strength of his grip as he's rubbing his hardness roughly into the curve of Wade's ass. He knows Wade is goading him, silencing better judgment in favor of violence and sex, but in this moment with thoughts whited out by sheer lust he doesn’t care. All he cares about is Wade, dangerous and willing, spreading his legs for him. He pulls off just enough to use the oil to slick himself quickly, and the smell of it is metallic and sharp, like the scent of Wade himself.

He squeezes more down the cleft of Wade’s ass, and then he’s pressing against Wade. He teases him, rubbing the head of his cock over Wade’s slick softness, letting it almost sink in before sliding away again. The outraged sound Wade makes brings a smirk to his lips.

Finally he gives Wade what he wants, sinks in slow, watching the other's hands clench on the roof edge and hearing his breath come in needy pants. No matter how long it's been, this feeling comes rushing back, Wade hot and tight around him. He savors it, slow at first, then faster. Revels in remembering and rediscovering just how to work this. Wade is hissing and grunting and gasping in time with his movement, the slap of skin. Under starlight and scattered city lights, he’s a shadow colored in blood, except for where his bare skin shines lighter. It’s heady, it’s dangerous, and he suddenly wants it to be his, just once more before the end, _his_ pet killer with a chance to be so much more, so Nate leans forward and dares to run his hand over Wade’s cheek, lips over the back of Wade’s neck, in something as possessive as it is tender.

Wade gasps appreciatively, shuddering at the attention, and suddenly in a leap of intuition it's clear to Nate. An offhand comment in a moment of anger. Wade's offended ego that hates few things more than being ignored. A point the mercenary is trying to make.

“Did you really come all the way out here for this? Just to get my attention?”

Breathless snicker. “Guess you have time for me after all.”

“I'm trying to change the world,” he breaths between red-covered shoulder blades. “I don't have time to soothe your ego whenever you want.”

“Could have fooled me.” Wade arches into it with a particularly satisfied groan.

Nate's not sure why Wade thinks this is the only way to get his attention--why he's chosen to lead him in a chase across rooftops so they can fuck half clothed in the darkness.

“Are you really that desperate for me?” he goads, curious for an answer. He shifts his grip, hands dropping to hips for a firm hold so he can rock Wade with hard, deliberate thrusts.

“I'm n-not desperate!” comes a quick denial. Then self-deprecation. “Although I ha-have to admit, still haven't h-had much luck f-finding anyone else who c-can stand the si-ight of my skin. No th-thanks to _you!_ ”

Nate believes it, although it still seems so incongruous to him. He’d seen Wade healed and smooth-skinned after the One World Church incident _(Wade is still angry apparently)_ , and had honestly not seen much if any difference that mattered to him. Of all the things that makes Wade _Wade_ , Deadpool _Deadpool_ , his skin is the most important to Wade and yet the least important to Nate.

And suddenly he has no desire to keep doing this in the dark, to let Wade keep hiding himself, hiding his desires. Claiming he wants nothing more than to be fucked dirty and uncaring on a city rooftop to make a point that Nate doesn’t believe.

Nate leans forward, hands braced on Wade’s hips. He needs to show Wade an alternative. “Bodyslide,” he whispers in Wade’s ear, moving against him in a surge of muscle and slick, “by two.”

The rooftop dissolves in a flash of blue light and then they drop onto Nate’s bed with a crash. Not the one at his Providence penthouse--this is his Swiss safehouse, his favorite. Quiet and remote, where they’re unlikely to be disturbed now that Xavier has already come and said his piece. Daylight is shining through the tall windows that make up one entire wall of the loft, so many time zones away from where they’d been a moment before, dazzling off snow outside to illuminate everything inside, scandinavian furniture and pine beams and white sheets. It shows everything under him, scars and lumps and the ripple of muscle and where his cock is slick and glistening and disappearing into Wade.

“Bod--” Wade starts to yell, but Nate claps his TO hand over Wade’s mouth to keep him from sliding them back. The TO is hard enough to be used as a shield against bullets--it can withstand Wade’s angry teeth just fine.

“You want me to do this? Then we do it here where I can see you,” he growls and shoves Wade’s face down into the mattress.

He pins him and fucks him like they mean something to each other. Slow, sensual, so much stimulation without the pace that’s going to bring a finish to this, making sure to make Wade jerk and arch under him. He watches Wade, revels in the way he twists and heaves, light playing over muscle. When he finally shifts his hand to better uses, Wade starts cursing again but doesn’t bother trying to slide.

“What are you trying to prove, Nate? Harder, damn it!”

“Harder? Of course.” That may be what Wade thinks he wants, but Nate knows he’s wrong, or at least not entirely correct. He shifts his pace, making it sharp and hard and punishing, enough to make Wade whimper. He’s not holding back, not any of his considerable strength, and Wade is taking it all. Mother Askani, how he’s missed this, disturbing though that may be, missed being able to let go without consequence, let go and watch Wade take it. But while Wade’s body is shaking from the force Nate is using, one arm wrapped around Wade’s waist to help stabilize them both, he runs the other in a deliberate, careful caress along Wade’s back, shoulder, arm, up to twine their fingers together. Leans and kisses up the side of Wade’s neck, mouthing at scars and sinews.

Counterpoint, ruthless and tender.

Yet it's not enough, he wants more of Wade, deeper, better, softer, more desperate, so he pulls out. Uses his TK to yank the rest of Wade’s clothes off of him, watches more blemished skin be unveiled to the light. He takes a secret delight in the pop and snap of a thread breaking, opening clasps and yanking off boots with a mere thought. Then he strips his own clothing off with no more care than he’d shown for Wade’s. Wade who has rolled over and is watching him, body a tense and jagged, warm slash across the white sheets, eyes intent, pupils blown wide.

He can use his telekinesis to raise islands, flood the desert, force peace on the wartorn. But none of that gives him quite the same thrill as bodily lifting Wade and flipping him around toward the headboard, never letting him quite find his balance by shoving his knees further apart between the scattered pillows. Watches Wade scramble to find a hold on the smooth wood of the headboard.

Then he’s leaning against Wade’s back, dropping whispered words into the curve of his ear again.

“You know, I meant it. It can be different. Come with me. Join me. Help me make the world a better place.”

“I'm not your disciple, mutant Jesus,” Wade pants. “I meant it too. Maybe I'm going to be the one stopping you.”

“It’s your choice.”

And it really is. Wade’s choice to run. Wade’s choice to come back. Will he continue to work with the X-Men against Providence or turn his back on them, turn his allegiance to Nate? Either way, it won’t change the outcome. And it doesn’t change the attraction Nate feels.

He guides himself back inside Wade with a thrust that seems to curl the other's toes, if the loud moan is any indication, then settles his hands over the back of Wade's and twines their fingers together, holds their hands together _(bondage or affection, it's unclear)_ , and ruts into Wade again.

Wade has loosened since they started, easy and slick to fuck into, _all_ the way in. He rides Wade, surges against him, pressed against him from chest to pelvis, follows the buck and shiver of his hips. He drives in hard and listens to Wade keen, to Wade curse, to Wade coming apart beneath him.

It's too good, he can't last, he's afraid he's not going to hold back long enough to be a considerate bedmate. When Wade is desperately trying to yank his hand free, he lets him move, and unsurprisingly Wade is going straight for his cock. It hangs stiff and hot and Wade wraps his fingers around it with a long, deep groan.

Nate settles his own hand on top and lets Wade guide the motion as he turns his attention back to what he's doing. 

He thrusts deep, grinds deep, lets his mouth drop to Wade's neck, fingers clenching where they're still meshed with Wade's, trying to bring them closer skin-to-skin any way he can. Feel the other every way he can.

“Wade!” he grits out below the other's ear and loses himself to sensation.

Hazily he’s aware of Wade desperately stripping his cock, gasping and stuttering and clenching around him as he moans, “Fuck, _Nate!_ ”

It feels to Nate like he’s floating, not sure for a second if he’s accidentally using his TK or if it just feels that good. Dazed and satisfied, he nuzzles below Wade’s ear, trails his fingers up the sweat-slick skin of Wade’s abs, chest.

It finally occurs to him that he’s leaning all his weight on Wade, so he pulls them back to unceremoniously collapse on their sides on the bed. For a while nothing but the sound of breath slowing fills the room.

Finally he shifts to pull back from Wade, who makes a satisfied noise.

“Damn, Nate. Missed me much?”

“Perhaps,” he says and finds his voice is rough, has to clear his throat. Then he adds, “There’s a shower through there,” he waves his hand to indicate a doorway, glimpse of tile and towels through it, “if you’d like.”

“Joining me?”

“Once you’re done, I’ll take a turn.”

If Wade is disappointed, he doesn’t show it, just rolls off the bed and strides away. Nate unabashedly watches him go, all scars and angry skin and smeared slick and strength revealed in the light.

When Wade disappears and the sound of water starts, he floats a towel out of the bathroom with TK, wipes the impressive-sized mess off his headboard and then turns onto his back with his eyes closed. He dozes until Wade steps back into the room, towel wrapped around his waist.

As Wade is finding his clothes, Nate lazily floats himself off the bed and onto his feet, starting the shower in the other room before he even gets to it. One cleansing ritual and change of clothes later, he comes down the stairs to find Wade standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows on the main level, bathed in warm sunlight. The other is wearing his Deadpool uniform except for the mask, which is held in one hand. Nate floats over to join him.

“Where are we?”

“Switzerland.”

“This place yours, or are we breaking and entering?”

“Mine.” Then he adds in a rare display of sharing, “I like the quiet here.”

While using a little bit of concentration in the kitchen behind him, Nate turns his eyes and most of his focus to the man beside him.

“Next time, if there is a next time, just slide to Providence’s control center. I’ll let Irene and Johann and the others know you’re expected and allowed.”

Wade glances at him. “You sure you want to do that? I’m still not on your side.”

A smile quirks Nate’s lips. “It’s not like you can get in without me noticing. I’ll keep an eye on you in case you try to attack me.”

Wade snorts. “Irene. Your reporter chick?”

“And Chief of Staff. Don’t be surprised if she corners you to ask questions about me.”

“Anything I shouldn’t say?”

“No. I am not ashamed of our … association.” Actually, he is quite sure that Wade is more loath to expose their connection than he is, so this seems like a safe bet. And if he _does_ expose them to Irene, it will be interesting watching her reaction.

Wade snorts. “You’re a master of understatement.”

“You’ll have to follow Providence’s rules.”

“Yeah yeah, I promise to behave and keep my hands to myself and eat tofu and not kill anyone.”

Nate smiles to himself, because Wade is not running, not denying, actually entertaining the idea. And the thought of Wade visiting him is definitely pleasant. He floats the two mugs he’s been preparing out of the kitchen and over to them.

“Care for some? Or I could make coffee.”

Wade accepts a mug, sniffs it, and then looks at Nate incredulously. “Hot chocolate? Really? Getting soft in your old age?”

Nate smirks back. “Would you prefer a beer?”

“No way,” Wade says firmly. “I prefer to keep my pants _on_ right now, thank you.”

This startles a chuckle out of Nate. He covers the honest smile on his lips by sipping hot cocoa and gazing at the mountains outside his windows. As moments before his plans come to fruition go, this rare companionable silence is certainly one he savors.

When they have both finished and the mugs are levitated off to the kitchen, he squares his shoulders and finally speaks. “Bodyslide by two.”

And again their feet touch down on the rooftops of Providence, still dark and starlit. This time though, Wade simply goes about gathering his gear, Nate helpfully floating some of it to him from the far-flung places it had fallen. Harnesses, swords, guns, and slowly Wade is transforming completely into Deadpool. Only the mask remains off, the last bit of Wade that’s he’s allowing Nate to see.

“We can bodyslide to wherever you’re going. I can fly back.”

“Driving me home after our date?” Wade jokes, tone already darkening like the night around them. “What a gentleman.”

Nate steps toward Wade, putting himself only a half step from the other, looking down at him to say, dark and intimate, “I think hardly anything I did this evening qualified as gentlemanly.”

Unspoken tension spikes. It would be so easy to lean forward and down, for Wade to surge forward and up, for lips to meet.

Instead, “Gotta start somewhere,” Wade breathes, possibly huskier than he had intended, because he frowns and finally yanks his mask on, leaving only the narrowed, white lenses to catch the light. “You’re going to lose,” he adds roughly.

“I’m not.”

“But what if you do?”

Nate smiles cryptically. “Then I’ll have also won. Bodyslide by two.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have to say, I _really_ love this piece.  <3 <3 <3 I hope you enjoyed it too. (And I love all comments, even if they’re just “I liked this” or “thank you”. They feed my soul. <3)
> 
> Did you catch all the references? :)
> 
>  
> 
> **Canon and other sources I used:**
> 
>  
> 
> [Beer & Sympathy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/745303) \-- multiple references
> 
> Wade angry about his face/skin after the One World Church incident ( _Cable & Deadpool_ #6)  
> 
> 
> “I don’t have time for you, Wade.” ( _Cable & Deadpool_ #7) -- This has been itching at Wade for days, irking him. He’s going to _make_ Nate have time for him.  
> 
> 
>  _Cable Classic 1_ (republishing _Cable Blood & Metal_ #1). Nate's favorite safehouse from _Blood and Metal_ appears to be the same as the one in _Cable & Deadpool_. It’s his favorite safehouse, quiet and isolated because he wants Wade to himself and knows Wade is _loud_. And this way he can see Wade in the light.  
>   
> 
> 
> “It doesn’t have to be this way.” ( _Cable & Deadpool_ #6)  
>   
> (I swear I would sell my soul to Zircher’s Cable. Also, look at that angsty boy standing there with his fist clenched as Wade turns him down. <3)
> 
>  
> 
> **And this fic leads into:**
> 
>  
> 
> Reasons for Wade to think the Marvel Girl costume and his legs are going to distract Nate. (I’m sure you’ve all seen this one before, but have the image anyway … and some gratuitous butt and panty shots just because. :3)  
> 
> 
> Events in this fic lead into an opportunity for Irene to have interviewed Wade at least once on Providence before the X-Men attack.  
> Furthermore… “Oh, girl, you haven’t lived until you do it while bodysliding.” ( _Cable & Deadpool_ #8) -- Uh. Yeah. Ho yay much? ^^; I just want to say that I put the corresponding scene in the fic _before_ I reread and fully remembered this little exchange between Wade and Irene. So it was already my headcanon and then suddenly *BAMF!* it was supported by canon. xD  
> 
> 
> Nate on a suicide mission. At this point he’s got a firm plan to sacrifice himself. Just think about that for a moment--Mr. Self Possessed realizes he’s a walking dead man for all of #6, #7, #8, and #9. O_o Wade is an indulgence in his last days, possibly a bad decision but one that won’t matter soon, and something he idly wishes didn’t have to end so soon. *my heart is breaking here* Also, that second to last line: even if he loses (dies), he'll win because his plans have succeeded.
> 
> When Wade tells the X-Men, “He did ask me to wipe my feet and not bleed on the carpeting,” we never actually saw that conversation. Not really. So I invented one. :)  
> 
> 
> Wade now knows about the safehouse so he can bodyslide here later. (This becomes relevant in a future work I’ll post in this series.)
> 
> PPS -- There is actually a brand of lube called “Gun Oil” which makes me laugh and laugh and laugh. Wade actually had something more like Extreme Force’s “Gun Oil, Firearms & Weapons Oil, Lubricant, Protectant. Extreme Force Weapon’s Lube”. But just imagine conservative, prudish gun nuts searching for “gun oil” and coming up with anal lube in their search results. *falls down on the floor from laughing so hard*
> 
> PPPS -- I’m [withoutaconscienceorafilter](http://withoutaconscienceorafilter.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr, if you’re interested in that sort of thing.
> 
> PPPPS -- I'd like to commission fanart based on this but don't necessarily know which artists do cablepool and are okay with NSFW (implied details, no drawing of the naughty bits required). Contact me if you're such an artist and interested?


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